Waking Dream
by ryanalicia
Summary: When her Angel steps out from behind the mirror to claim her love, will Christine be satisfied with his facade - and can Erik bear to let her see the man underneath? E/C
1. Chapter 1

Waking Dream by ryanalicia

CHAPTER ONE

He could bear it no longer – standing behind that wretched mirror – yet to leave its protective boundary risked everything he had built with Christine. He was her Angel. How could he risk showing her that he was also a man? But for so long he'd waited for her to go from the girl he nurtured – and who nurtured him – into the woman who could perhaps love him despite his deformity, his sins.

He pressed the button at the top of the mirror's gilt frame and watched as a crystal clear vision of the sleeping Christine came into view. He adored her. Would she accept adoration from her Angel, her teacher?

Slowly, hesitantly, he approached her bedside, kneeling to get as close to her as possible. It wasn't close enough. He had to touch her. He had never touched another human being in the way he was about to touch his Christine. The prospect made his hand tremble as he lightly cupped her face in his large hand. She seemed so fragile. Could this woman-child summon the courage it would take to love him?

His heart lurched as Christine smiled beneath his touch. Could she know it was him? Her Angel?

Against his better judgment, he began to sing. It was a lullaby of sorts, but one that spoke of love as a barrier against all troubles.

When she stirred, he leaned down and whispered to her. "Don't open your eyes, Christine. Don't open your eyes or your Angel must disappear."

She was still for a long moment, but did not look at him. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand to put it atop his own. The willing touch enflamed both his love and his desire for her, and he took in a shuddering breath.

"How is it that you are here with me?" she asked. "And why can I not look at you?"

"I am many things, Christine. Please don't question me. In time, you will know me."

"I feel so safe with you, Angel."

He moved his hand against her face, sending his fingers into her silky hair – another new sensation to buffet his senses.

"Christine, would you let me give you a gift?"

She was silent longer than he would have liked. Finally, she spoke. "You already give me more than you know. I would ask nothing else from you, but neither would I refuse anything you wish to offer. You know I am your obedient student."

"Then obey me by not opening your eyes, and receive the gift I have come to give you."

He closed his own eyes, said a silent prayer to he knew not which god, and bent his head to feather his lips against hers.

To his surprise, she didn't flinch. He took the opportunity to kiss her properly. It was chaste, but it was a real kiss, and she didn't move away. Neither did he, and he gasped when her fingers left his to circle around his neck.

"Might I give you a gift in return?" she asked.

He hated himself for his moment of speechlessness. "I could never refuse any gift from you," he said, echoing her earlier words.

She pulled him closer to her and pressed her mouth against his. When she opened her lips, he didn't know what to do, so he just let love and instinct guide him – the instinct to be as close to her as possible, to experience as much of her as she would give him.

When the first wave of desire flooded him, it was such a shock that he pulled away. "I must leave you now, my sweet Christine. Your gift overwhelms me."

She nodded, and he noticed her skin was flushed – as flushed as he felt his own must be.

"Will you sing to me again?" she asked.

He closed his eyes, reveling in the chance to stay close to her. "Anything you wish."

He sat on the edge of her bed and resumed the lullaby. She turned on her side and took his hand between hers. He closed his eyes and sang until he knew she was asleep, and then he took his leave back through the mirror into the darkness.

With Meg's help, Christine struggled into the lovely dress that was her costume for the aria scene of _Hannibal_. Nerves were making her stomach flutter, and she thought she could feel her throat closing. Never more had she wished for the soothing presence of her tutor, but he had been curiously absent the last few days – ever since she'd auditioned for the opera house's new owners. His nightly visits had ceased, and she missed him terribly. She missed his teaching and his new presence by her bedside at night. She felt the blood rush to her face as she thought of the other things she missed – his touch, his kiss. She was a child no longer, and she could no longer deceive herself that her mysterious teacher was merely an angel. If he was an angel, he had taken form as a human man. She had felt the fine hair on the back of his hand, the quiver in his touch, the warmth of his lips on hers. She knew that his pulse raced when she opened to him and returned his kiss. She'd come to live for that moment, that knowledge that she could affect him so. It put her on more even footing with him. Even their tutoring sessions had taken on a different quality; he was less high-handed with her, even as he continued to push her to ever greater heights. It was as if now, when they lost themselves in the music, they were lost together.

That night on stage, she sang for him, and it was so bittersweet it almost moved her to tears. Something told her there was no future for her and her Angel. Whatever he was, he was a creature of night who refused to let her see his face. For the first time, it occurred to her that he might be some other kind of being – the kind used to scare children in fairy stories. Without much examination, she brushed the thought aside. Her Angel was beautiful and gentle.

When Raoul appeared at her door after the performance, she was stunned beyond belief. Her childhood friend had grown into a handsome young nobleman. She accepted his dinner invitation, swept along by the tide of his apparent enthusiasm at seeing her again. With a smile she watched him leave to fetch his carriage, finding it flattering that he kept turning back as if he just had to get another look at her.

But then her Angel called to her, and all thoughts of Raoul and his promised supper left her. She watched as the mirror slid silently open to reveal a man wearing a mask that hid half his face. He was tall and broad shouldered, and she recognized the hands she had held in the night. This was her Angel. And this was a man.

She took his proffered hand, never more unsure of anything, but he treated her only as a treasured student as they made their way ever downward, coming to a halt at the edge of a misty lake.

When they'd crossed the brief expanse of water and his home came into view, she began to understand. Her Angel and the opera ghost were one and the same. But then he began to sing to her, and all her doubts fled. She was in his arms, and she had never felt so wonderful, so complete. His voice brought her ecstasy, and his tentative touch promised even more.

"You will stay here tonight," he said when his song was at an end.

He took her hand and guided her to an ornate bed behind a sheer curtain.

"And will you stay with me?" she asked, surprising herself with her boldness, but she had missed him, his touch.

He spun his head to look at her and then shook it in the negative. "It would not be appropriate, Christine."

She nodded because she thought it was the reaction he expected of her. It was not what she wanted.

She took his hand as she stepped up onto the raised dais of the bed; he released his grip as she sank down. He rapidly turned away.

"Have I done something?" she asked, suddenly uncertain. "Have I displeased you?"

She saw his back stiffen. "You could never displease me, Christine." He turned slightly back toward her. "It's just that the sight of you here, in my home, moves me greatly."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she just sat there and watched him leave. Then she lay down, acknowledging what the night had taken out of her and that she was indeed tired.

But then the haunting notes of an organ reached her, and she felt overcome by the sadness of the piece. She got up and went to him.

For some reason, it surprised her that he had removed his jacket. She could see the muscles of his back moving as his hands traversed the keys. He played with his whole body, his whole soul.

She came to stand behind him and put her hands lightly on his shoulders. He stopped playing and sat bolt upright.

Not sure where the impulse came from, she began to move her hands, running them across his shoulders, letting her fingers slide in and out of the lovely muscular indentations there. Then she ran her hands slowly down his arms to his bent elbows and then back up again.

When her hands reached their starting place, he brought his larger ones up to grab her. "Christine," he whispered.

"Shh," she said. "Let me make my own gift. I want to see you."

His hand flew to his mask. "No."

She shook her head though he couldn't see her. "Not that."

He lowered his hand. "Then?" His voice trailed off, and she slid her hands down the front of his shirt.

First she touched the heated skin revealed by the top two open buttons. She heard him gasp and felt his chest rise and fall beneath her touch. Then she moved her hands to the next button and worked it loose.

"What are you doing?"

She opened the next button and pushed the two halves of his shirt further aside. It frustrated her that she couldn't see more of her handiwork. Before she got to the next button, she gave a tug on the fabric and pulled it free of his pants.

"Christine, what are you doing?" His voice reverberated with alarm, but she didn't care. She no longer felt like the student, and she wanted to revel in that feeling. For once, she was the one with power over him.

She pulled the blasted shirt down his arms and threw it on the floor behind her. For a moment, she did nothing – merely looked at the lovely way his muscles bunched as he sat up even straighter, at the beautiful taper of his form from his shoulders to his waist.

She stepped closer to him and trailed one finger across his back. Then she turned her hand over and lightly skimmed two of her fingernails down his spine.

He made a noise that was something between a groan and a whimper, and she came around to stand in front of him, one of her legs on either side of his.

He slowly raised his gaze from her breasts to her face.

"I always thought I was yours," she said. "But, in fact, it's you that are mine, isn't it?"

He looked down. "For ever and always, Christine."

His admission was so simple, so complete that it caused her to lose her nerve. She was playing with forces and emotions she didn't fully understand, and she stepped over to one side of the bench to put some distance between them.

"Will you take me back?" she asked.

This surprised him and he turned quickly to look at her. "You won't stay?"

She shook her head. "You don't really want me here."

His brow furrowed. "How can you say that? I'd die to keep you close to me."

"Not close enough." She looked at his mask. "I know now that you are a man – my teacher, my comforter, my Angel – but still a man. And you hide who you are behind a mask and behind your lovely music."

"My music is who I am."

"It is not all of who you are. And there are things you won't show me."

He turned to face the piano and slumped his shoulders. "There are many things you don't know about me, but can't you accept that you know all that there is of importance? You know my music; you know my heart."

"But not your soul. That you keep hidden."

"Like my face, you would not find it a pretty thing."

"Then we are at an impasse, my Angel. And you must take me back."

He stood, made his way to his crumpled shirt and pulled it quickly back into some semblance of order. Then he escorted her back into the boat, back onto the horse, and then back through the mirror.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

The next night Raoul again followed her to her dressing room, and this time she did accompany him to a late supper. They spoke at first of childhood things – things Christine had long forgotten under the burden of lonely hours in a dark opera house. He reminded her of running on beaches while her father painted the lovely landscape around them. He reminded her of running into the water to catch her scarf, blown thither by the ocean breeze. He reminded her of love and laughter, and she found herself smiling often. She'd almost forgotten how to think happy thoughts of her father. So many of her memories were bound up in his painful last days, how she had no option but to watch him suffer a slow death. But Raoul brought back memories of happier times, and for that she was truly grateful.

"I thought you lost to me forever, Christine, after our family gave up the summer house."

She laughed. "Admit it, you never gave me another thought after that summer. You must have been far too busy being groomed to be a Viscount."

He smiled wryly. "There are some charms to being a nobleman in Paris."

"You don't seem any the worse for wear."

"I'm not a complete reprobate. I manage my father's estates for him now. I'm well-regarded."

"I'm sure. I never doubted it."

"And now you are well-regarded by the entire city."

"One audience is not quite the entire city."

"But the papers are abuzz with your praises today. I had them brought to me over breakfast."

She thought about that for a moment – what it must be like to have people to bring you things and make your breakfast – and she suddenly wondered whose world was really more foreign to her – Raoul's or the Phantom's.

"There's no need to be nervous, Christine," he said, misinterpreting her pensive stare. "You'll delight them again every time, I've no doubt."

She smiled. "I've had a very good teacher."

"Who is this teacher? And why, for god's sake, has no one ever employed him to help Carlotta?"

Christine laughed. "He has an artist's temperament and prefers to remain anonymous. Plus, he hates Carlotta."

"Then he's a man of above average taste. I would like to meet him."

She shook her head. "I doubt he would agree to that. He's very strict. He's probably cross with me right now for not returning after rehearsal for another lesson."

"Surely he doesn't expect you to practice night and day?"

"As I said, he's very strict."

Raoul raised his brows, but then smiled. "After your performance last night, I suppose only a fool would criticize his methods. But I will be very unhappy if they keep me from seeing you again."

"I enjoy your company, Raoul. It has taken me back to happier times. I will not turn you away."

He took her hand across the table. "I'm delighted to hear it."

The Phantom scowled and paced and paced and scowled behind the secret mirror. Christine was not in her room, and he'd taken the liberty of examining her things for a clue to her whereabouts. The only unfamiliar item was an invitation to dinner from that fool Viscount, and it seemed that Christine had accepted.

Grief stabbed him to his core. How could she? How could she after kissing him, touching him? After he'd told her he was hers.

His insides twisted into a tighter knot. It was his fault. He should have told her how much her touch meant to him. How it was the first loving touch of his life. But there was so much he didn't want to reveal to her. He wanted her to think of him as her Angel – not as some inexperienced, disfigured mutant. He'd thought it would be so easy to get her to love her Angel. Why had he not seen that, if he showed her the man, she might want to know him, too? It had honestly never occurred to him. Who had ever wanted to know him? Who had ever even wanted to be in his presence?

When the door to her room opened, he put both hands to the side of the mirror's frame and braced himself. To his horror, she was smiling.

He hung his head. How could he hope to win her if all they'd shared couldn't compete with the flattering attentions of one Viscount? He cursed himself for ever hoping for love from her, and felt despair slowly turn to anger.

When he finally opened the mirror, Christine had just turned around to begin unbuttoning her gown.

"Christine."

She turned to him with a start. "I didn't expect you," she said.

"Didn't expect me or didn't want me? I trust your evening with your Viscount was satisfactory?"

"It was. He's an old friend."

"I thought I was an old friend."

"Are we friends? You've never even told me your name."

He cocked his head to one side. "You've never asked. My name is Erik."

"Erik," she repeated. "I like it."

"Now are we friends?" he asked.

She smiled and took a step toward him. "I spent last night running my hands over your naked flesh. Does that sound like something friends do?"

He was at a loss for an answer. He'd never suspected she could be like this, that she had the power to shock him into silence.

"It's too late for a lesson now," she said into the silence. "Will you kiss me goodnight?"

He had to replay her words in his mind to be sure he had heard her correctly. He stepped stiffly toward her, but she met him across the space and melted against him.

He sucked in a labored breath. He could do this. He'd kissed her before. She liked his kisses.

"Did you kiss your Viscount?"

She stiffened and slapped him, hard, across the unmasked side of his face.

"I'll take that as a no," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Since when do you have such a low opinion of me?"

"Since you've allowed yourself to be courted by someone else?" His felt his anger returning. He wasn't completely in the wrong.

"Tell me, Erik, would you have me come to you with only a child's knowledge of the world outside this opera house?"

He furrowed his brow. "I don't understand."

"You want me to love you, yes? Would you have me love you because you've been my one comfort since my father's death, because you've given my soul a voice? Or would you have me love you as the free choice of a woman who knows what she wants?"

He was silent for a long time, trying to process what she was asking. "Are you asking me to let you court this Raoul person?"

"So that, if I come to you, I come with no reservations about a life that might have been."

He sighed. "I fear I cannot compete with all the Viscount can offer you, Christine. If you come to care for him, you will be lost to me forever."

She shook her head. "You underestimate the power you have over me, teacher. And you should know that now it is chiefly your fear that stands between us."

"My fear is long-standing and well-founded."

"The day may come when you have to choose between me and it."

He felt his insides crumple. To release his fear would surely be to lose her forever. How could she ever stand to truly see him as he was?

"Court your Viscount, Christine. Then, if your feelings for me win the day, it will be time enough to discuss my fears."

She took Erik at his word and did continue to see Raoul. He was a sweet, patient courtier, and she felt a gentle affection for him.

Every night, however, Erik called to her to resume her lessons. He never came into her room, but he played and sang with her until she wanted to twirl around the room at the beauty of it all. If only he would talk to her the way he sang to her, she thought. If only they could talk of love and beauty. And heartache. She wanted to know his pain the way she knew his beautiful, musical heart. Their love was worthy of an opera. She was sure of it.

Then she stood stock still. Love? Did she love the phantom of the opera? Did she love her teacher, her friend, her tender lover? Of course she did.

The revelation gave her new courage to fight him. To fight for the right to love all of him, not just the façade he wanted her to see.

Thoughts of Raoul came unbidden. Raoul was safe, permanent. It was easy to see a life with him. Erik was fierce and volatile. She didn't know what trials their future might hold. Was she willing to risk it?

She went to bed with that thought in her mind, determined to be certain before she saw Erik again.

As it turned out, it didn't take her so long to make up her mind. She woke in the middle of the night and knew it was from the lack of his touch. He hadn't visited her since the night of their discussion about Raoul.

Throwing her covers back, she got out of bed and went over to the mirror. She'd never tried to open it herself, but now she ran her fingers all along its edge and finally found the catch.

To her great relief there was a lantern hanging on a nail in the stone wall just inside the darkened space. She lit it and began her descent. With no mount, she felt she walked downward forever. Was she walking into hell? Was that what the future had in store for them? She refused to believe it. A life with Erik would undoubtedly be more difficult than a life with Raoul, but it would have the things she needed to live. It would have love, passion, and music. All her dinners with Raoul had left her colder than one minute with her Angel. She would not let him go. And she would not let him put up any more barriers between them.

It was almost an hour before she reached the lake. The boat was on the other side, so she called out to Erik. Distant music stopped, and he came quickly to fetch her.

"Why are you here?" he asked, as she took a seat.

"To see you, obviously."

"Our lesson for tonight has concluded."

She looked up at him. "I don't think so."

That seemed to puzzle or annoy him. She never quite knew what he was thinking. Either way, he stared out into the distance and pushed them across the lake in silence.

When they'd disembarked, she asked him to play for her.

"What would you like to hear?"

"Play what you were playing when I came in."

He nodded, took off his coat, and sat down at the organ.

"Take your shirt off," she ordered.

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. She was surprised to see him smiling; she'd assumed he would resist. He didn't. He undid the buttons and let the shirt fall to the floor behind him. Then he began to play, and she came to stand behind him, letting her hands rest on his shoulders once again. He didn't stiffen up this time, rather he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He continued playing like that until the end of the piece.

When he showed no inclination to move, Christine came around in front of him, putting her legs on either side of his as she'd done before. This time, his hands came out to grasp her hips. She stepped forward, knelt with one knee on the bench beside him and wrapped her other leg around his waist.

"Christine!"

She ignored him and brought her other leg around, leaving her sitting heavily in his lap, with her sex up against him in the most intimate way. He dropped his head to her chest and gasped for breath.

"What are you doing to me?" he rasped.

"Exactly what I want," she replied. "Now kiss me – or have you forgotten how?"

He grabbed her neck and pulled her down for a kiss that was crushing and exploring in turns – by far the most passionate they'd ever shared.

He was the first to break away. "Christine, you can't be here like this. You don't know what you're doing."

"I think I do," she replied. She moved her head and dropped light kisses along his jaw.

"And just how would you know that?" She thought his tone was a mixture of curiosity and dread. Did he really think she'd say some other lover had taught her?

"I've been asking discreet questions of some of the not-so-discreet chorus girls," she answered. "Really, you'd be amazed the things one can apparently do to a man."

His brows shot up. "I think I haven't been keeping a close enough eye on you."

She laughed. "You've watched over the little girl for long enough Erik. Do you want the woman or don't you?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. "More than you know, but I would not dishonor you."

"Then I'll dishonor you." She reached down and undid the front of his trousers.

His mouth gaped open as she touched him, but he kept his eyes closed tight. She removed her hand for a moment, causing him to gasp. He gasped again after she'd moved her nightdress out of the way and slid her slick flesh along his length. Now she had his full attention, she thought, relieved. His eyes burned into hers, and she knew there was no going back for them now. He would not be sending her away.

The hand that had been at the small of her back slid down to clutch at her bottom, pulling her harder against him. His other hand pulled her down for another kiss, and they stayed like that – kissing and grinding – until Christine thought she would explode. The smooth skin of his chest and back felt overheated, and he was groaning her name in between kisses.

She pulled back and looked at him. Love shone from his eyes – and a passion so bright she wondered how he kept it under control at all.

"Take off your mask, Erik?" she asked.

He went still, and then shook his head. "Please don't ask that of me. Let me have this once. If there's never another time, the memory will sustain me through a lifetime of loneliness. Let me have this, Christine."

The extent of his fear saddened her, but she nodded. She would let him keep his armor against her up – for just this once.

She bent to kiss him again and raised herself onto her knees. Then she touched him once more, guided him to her, and slid ever so slightly down his shaft.

She didn't think his eyes could get any wider, though she knew they mirrored her own. She'd never felt anything so…right…in her life.

"Christine - "

She cut him off. "Don't say anything."

She slid further down, pain stopping her half way.

"Don't make me hurt you, Christine." His eyes pleaded with her, though she wasn't sure whether it was to stop or continue. After a moment, she felt herself adjusting to the size of him. The pain seared, then eased, and she sank down, bringing their bodies as close together as she could get them.

Erik rested his head on her chest, and she, in turn, rested her head on his. They both took deep, shuddering breaths.

Ever so slightly, she began to move against him.

He groaned and gripped her ass with both hands. "Not like this," he said. "Hold on." He stood, never breaking their connection and moved them into the next room to the edge of his big bed.

"I'm not really sure about this next part," Christine admitted as Erik sat them down again. She was still astride him, still ostensibly in control.

"Be still," he said. Then his hands went to the buttons of her nightdress, and it quickly fluttered to the floor. He leaned back, looking at her. "You're so beautiful. Why are you here with me?"

"You're my Angel," she said with a shrug.

"You asked if I wanted the woman. Do you want the man, Christine? Or just your Angel? He doesn't really exist, you know."

She skittered a finger along the side of his mask. "The man hides from me," she replied.

He put a hand out and ran his flat palm over the pebbled flesh of her nipple. "I think I'll just accept that you are here. Questions will do us no good tonight."

When his other hand followed in a similar course, she arched her back, seeking out more of his heated touch. When his head dipped and he kissed her there, she couldn't help grinding herself tight against him. It felt so good she did it again, then once more.

Erik groaned, put his hands around her back and twisted them so she was beneath him on the bed. He looked down into her eyes, his blue eyes like flame, and pushed deeper into her.

She cried out and clenched her hands into the muscles of his back.

When he moved back, she wanted to cry out again, but his forward motion stopped the breath in her throat.

"God, Christine, you're so beautiful."

"Erik…"

He moved cautiously then, seeming to seek out the motions that brought cries or groans to her lips. Then he began to move in earnest, finding a rhythm that stunned them both.

He brought his mouth down to hers and began to kiss her in time to his thrusts. Christine threw her head back, felt his hot kisses on her neck, and then screamed his name as he carried her over some precipice she'd never known a person could reach.

She felt him speed up his thrusts, and the renewed motion sent her higher still. Suddenly his frame went tense, and then he was shuddering against her like a frightened child. He dropped his head to rest it in the crook of her neck. His mask rubbed her cheek.

"Christine, I love you. With everything that I am, such as it is, I love you."

She ran her free hand down his back. "Thank you," she said. She'd made a promise to herself that she would not tell him of her feelings until he had truly shared himself with her – until he stopped hiding behind his mask.

He pulled back from her, leaving her cold, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. "It's because I love you that I'm going to send you back."

Christine closed her eyes.

"You deserve a life, Christine. You've given me more than I'd ever dared to hope. Let me give you your freedom. Your Angel doesn't exist, and the man in me is useless for anything but making music. I can't give you anything your young suitor can. Please go and be happy. For me."

She raised herself onto her elbows and looked at him. "So noble – and so arrogant. I've cut the cord with you, Erik. I no longer do your bidding." She swung her legs out of the bed and quickly donned her nightdress. Clutching it to her, she glared at him. "I'll go. But I won't go to Raoul. I won't be a kept woman in a big, empty house. I won't have a life with no song, no opera. How could you think I'd punish myself that way?"

"Christine, at least with him you can live in the light."

"With you I could live in the light!" She almost screamed it at him. "A masked man might be a curiosity, but you could walk the streets if you chose." She took a deep breath. "The damned mask actually makes you quite dashing."

Erik was looking at her as if she'd sprouted a second head.

"So," she asked, "what's your plan? To never see me again? To go back to being just my teacher? To lie here alone every night from here on holding onto the memory of what we've had?"

"I have no better memory to hold on to."

She ignored the stab at her heart. "I wouldn't have thought you the type to use me and then cast me aside."

He sucked in a breath. "You know that's not the way of things, Christine."

"Take me back," she said through clenched teeth. "Only, when you're down here alone, don't think of what we did. Think of all the things we might be doing. Think of all the things we could be doing right now – of all the things we might do in the future, if you'd just let me in."

He stood and dragged on his trousers.

They made the journey back in complete silence.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Erik thought of all the misery he'd known in his sometimes too-long life and wondered that it couldn't compare to the misery Christine had left him with.

He'd thought the memory of their lovemaking would sustain him. He almost laughed at the thought. How little he knew of love! It wasn't sustaining him; it was killing him.

He couldn't sleep for envisioning all the things she'd implied were possible, if he'd just relent. His memory didn't keep him warm – it burned and scalded him. Every memory of her touch was like a flame to his sensitive skin. When he did sleep, dreams of her replaced his usual nightmares. These dreams brought him temporary ecstasy, but he inevitably woke with empty arms, and the loneliness he'd chosen brought tears to his eyes.

But he had to let her go. He knew that. He had to love her that much. And love her he did.

It was four days before he yielded and again stood behind her mirror. He just needed to see her; that was all.

There was a vase of flowers on her dressing table – flowers he hadn't sent her. Perhaps she had seen the sense of his words and was again encouraging the young Viscount. He groaned at the pain in his heart.

Christine's hand paused where she sat brushing her hair. Had she heard him?

She resumed her nightly ritual, and then came to stand in front of the mirror. She pulled her hair back with one hand and ran the other down the long column of her white throat. The white dress glittered against her skin and hugged her curves. He could see the rise of her breasts above the fabric.

Her hand dropped lower, and she skimmed her fingers across that tender skin that had captured his attention.

He was disappointed when she turned around, but then her fingers began to work the ties on her dress. Soon it was in a pile on the floor. Her corset followed, and then she was again standing before him, this time wearing only a thin shift. She untied its brief laces and clenched her fists in the fabric, guiding it down her body, slowly. Very slowly.

Erik knew he shouldn't watch her like this. He never had before. But he'd never needed her so badly.

As the fabric slowly revealed more of her creamy skin, then her pert breasts, her slender waist and delicate hips, Erik tried to force himself to move. It was impossible.

When the shift hit the floor, she stepped out of it and moved closer to the mirror. She put one hand on each side of its golden frame, and then she leaned in close.

"Go away, Erik," she said.

Her words stunned him, and he managed a noisy step back.

Then she smiled at him, as if he were standing, completely visible right in front of her. "Sweet dreams."

He grunted, took one more look at the foreign flowers, turned on his heel and did what he had been unable to do of his own volition. He left her.

Christine gave it three more days. She couldn't stand it any longer. She'd made her break with Raoul, explaining how she could never give up opera, not even to be a Viscountess. He'd said he understood, and she had the rewarding feeling that they'd truly parted friends.

But it wasn't Raoul that made her insides burn. She only hoped Erik had been suffering the same torment. She'd needed him before for comfort, for guidance, for tutoring, even friendship. She loved him and wanted him with her. She hadn't known the longing her very cells could be capable of. Her body needed his. She needed his hands on her. She needed him looking into her eyes as he slipped inside her.

It was late, but she vowed not to wait a second longer.

Once more through the mirror, and then she was on her way down the long route of staircases and dimly lit halls. When she got to the lake, she dropped her shift to the ground and swam across, emerging dripping on the other side, her hair hanging in wet curls down her back.

The Phantom was nowhere to be seen.

She went to his bedroom and raised the curtain. He lay there, curled into a ball as if feeling the need to defend himself. He wore only his trousers. His mask lay on the table at the bedside.

Christine took the opportunity to study him. She couldn't see all of his deformity because he lay on that side. What she could see was rough, reddened skin across his eye and forehead. His real hair was a lighter brown than the wig he wore and it seemed sparse and wispy on the damaged side.

She stood there and asked herself if she felt fear or revulsion. The answer came back a resounding 'no'. His face did not make her love him less. At this point, she realized, nothing could make her love him less. He was everything to her. Everything she needed.

She climbed into the bed from the other side and curled up against his strong back. He seemed to sigh and let out a long breath at the feel of her skin against his.

In a moment she felt him stir. He looked down at where her white hand lay against his forearm.

"Christine?"

She kissed his shoulder in answer, and he shuddered.

"I can't send you away again," he said. "God help me, I know I should, but I can't." He rolled over to face her, and she pulled his head down to hers, kissing him – tenderly at first and then with all the pent up passion of the last few loveless days.

She felt him give in and begin to respond. His hand went to her back, and he pulled away from her.

"You're wet."

She smiled at him. "You live behind a lake. How else is a girl supposed to surprise you?"

She saw his eyes widen and a smile spark to life.

"Keep me warm?" she asked, eyes wide, affecting an innocence she no longer felt and didn't miss.

He dipped his head to kiss her again and began to run his hand down her back, dipping to cup the globe of her ass and then back up along the swell of her hip and the valley of her waist.

Christine moved her hand from where it gripped his shoulder up to the side of his face as they kissed – the unmasked side. As soon as she touched the ridged flesh, she heard him gasp.

He drew back like a scalded animal, scrambling up the bed to a sitting position, turning away from her, with his hand over his damaged skin. "You did this on purpose!"

Christine sighed and rolled over onto her back. She laced her fingers together behind her head and waited.

"How could you?" he screamed at her.

She still just casually waited.

He got up to pace back and forth beside the bed, one hand still clasped to his face.

After he stopped muttering, Christine raised herself up on her elbows. "Are you ready to come back to bed yet?" she asked softly.

He stopped pacing and turned to look at her. Very slowly, he lowered his hand, his eyes watching her all the while. "You want to lie down with this?"

She nodded. "Did you hear me complaining? I want you, Erik. I want you in every way a woman can want a man – more, even. I want you as a friend, as a tutor, as a lover. Please, Erik, come back to bed. These last few days have been torture without you. Please, Erik – touch me."

She reached out her hand to him, and, very slowly, he moved to take it.

"Are…are you sure?"

She got up onto her knees in front of him and ran her hands along both sides of his face. "Erik, I'm sure. I was sure long before tonight."

"But…but you've never seen me before."

"I've always seen you – seen you as you truly are. And I love you. Your face doesn't matter to me."

He extended his arms and wrapped them around her, pulling her body to his. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. She felt him smile. "You mean you don't love me because I'm 'quite dashing'?"

She laughed that he'd remembered her compliment. Then she wrapped her arms around him. "I love you with all my heart, Erik. Please don't ever send me away again. I can't bear it."

He shuddered in her arms. "Neither can I. My honor was proving a flimsy barrier against my need for you."

"I don't want any more barriers between us."

He leaned back. "And the boy?"

"The boy is a dear friend and nothing more. I expect he will be back on the market for a wife before the sun sets tomorrow."

Erik groaned and squeezed her close. "I never thought I'd be on the market for a wife." He leaned back and looked down at her. "I know you haven't said that's what you want – and why would you? But, would you consider, whether, someday, you might consent to be my wife?"

"Oh, Erik…" Christine blinked back tears. "I could never be anyone's wife but yours." She smiled. "And I'll say yes the moment you ask me properly."

She'd never seen him smile like he smiled at her in that moment.

"Wait right here," he said, disappearing beyond the curtain.

She heard him moving things about, and then he reappeared before her holding a plain gold band. He dropped to one knee beside the bed.

"Christine," he said, swallowing hard, "will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

She extended her right hand, where she would wear the ring until their wedding. "Yes, Erik, I will be your wife."

He slid the ring onto her finger and then kissed the back of her hand. When he raised his lips, he clasped her hand to the side of his face he usually hid behind the mask.

"I love you more than words can say. More even than music could impart."

Christine had to struggle not to cry. She knew what he could say through music. She would get him to write a song for their wedding. But, before then, she wanted to make love to her husband-to-be.

She tightened her grasp and pulled him to her. He rose to his feet, came forward and kissed her like a drowning man. She was breathless when he finally pulled back. Both their chests were heaving.

He smiled at her. "I believe you promised me a veritable feast of lovemaking delights, wife."

She laughed. "So I did. Have you been thinking? Anything strike your fancy?"

His face grew serious. "I want you to touch me all over, Christine. I want to feel your hands, your lips, your legs – everything. No one has ever really touched me until you. I want to feel you all over me."

His plight pained her heart, but his words fueled her desire. It was a simple enough request. She would show him exactly how much she loved him, show every inch of him that her love was his and his alone – that it could burn through the hurts of the past and make way for a sunlit future.

_fin_


End file.
